A "Monday Show" mention.

Tony Rielage recently interviewed Don Hall about Wip (Tony's workshop program) and the general state of improv.

Don's an interesting guy. Even in the few times that I have disagreed with him, I always found myself actively engaged in what he was saying and how he said it. If you haven't already, check out his blog. It's linked over on my sidebar and is called "An Angry White Guy In Chicago". His blog entries are smart, funny and passionate. There are things there for improvisers and non-improvisers alike. Of particular note, are Don's writings about his recent employment in the Chicago educational system. Every one of those entries is a gem.

Anywho...

In the interview, Don mentions me and "The Monday Show", a show that I produced last year. (And the year before that.) He said some nice things about the show and marketing the show to the general public. Here, reprinted without the authors permission, is the relevant excerpt.

It’s like [Mr.B] with The Monday Show. The Monday Show had a specific feel and, you know, he capitalized on the name, it was on Monday, cool, that’s fine. But it was a format and it had a look, and he did it on off-nights so it didn’t cost him a lot, and he had good audiences because it was a good, good show.

TR: Um... although "The Monday Show" doesn’t...

DH: It’s a pretty crappy title.

TR: Even reading all the blurbs on it- I never got out to see it- because I was always doing tech those nights. But everything I’ve read about it was like, "Oh this is really great", "This has a good interesting feel to it", "It’s harkening back to another era", it should have really big, great wonderful audiences if people ever realized what the hell’s going on.

DH: Well, they did.... I loved it.

You can read the whole interview here. In fact, you probably should do that.

After he saw my show, Don Hall stood out front of the theater for an hour and gave me feedback on the show and on marketing, in general. His suggestions about alterations about marketing the show were smart and spot on. (If I were ever to remount the show, I would ABSOLUTELY use them. And give him credit for the suggestions.) Similarly, he astutely picked up on all the philosophical and artistic messages that we were trying to convey in the show. He "got it" on many different levels and I really appreciated that. Not everyone who saw the show, did.

One thing that Don said to me, I have held onto, these months later. It's one of the coolest things that anyone had to say about the show. And for me, it was the pay-off for months of hard work. I considered this to be my "payment" for doing the show. Here's what he said to me...

"If Del [Close] and Martin [De Maat] had seen this show, they both would've walked out, loving it. For entirely different reasons, mind you, but they would've loved it. I think Del would've loved it for it's dignity. How it treats improv like an artform. And I think Martin would've loved it for it's optimism and it's humanity. I think they both would've really loved it."

Don Hall don't mess around. If he didn't like it, he might've gently told me why, but he would've told me. I trust his appreciation for the show as the genuine article. The fact that he referenced it, a year or so later, only confirms that.

Someone that I like and respect, said something nice about a show that I directed and produced and that has just made my day.

Cheers,
Mr.B



PS. To learn more about "The Monday Show", check out this early blog entry. To read our excellant review of the show, check out this review from Centerstagechicago.com.

Sleepy Urbanites.

Saw an article about this, online and in today's reader. I thought you'd want to know about it.

Yvonne Doll is a local Chicago artist who has been snapping cellphone pics of people sleeping on the CTA for the past few years. The pics have finally been posted online for public viewing. Doll has 200 online, with another 300 coming.

You can view the gallery of the sleeping commuters, by clicking here.

There's something ethereal about how Doll chooses to procss the photos. Maybe it's the limitation of the cellphone pics processing power or maybe Doll chooses to intentionally enhance the blurry dream-like qualities of the pics. But they definitely look like pictures taken, in a dream, of someone dreaming.

It's also a little eery to see people sitting upright, facing forward, participating in the communal travel ritual, but otherwise lifeless in their appearance. It's a little bit creepy.

I sleep on the train.
A lot.
On the way to work. On the way home. Anytime I'm on an empty train car. I wouldn't be surprised to find myself in Dolls gallery.

Perhaps you do too.
Perhaps you should be looking for yourself in there, as well?

Seriously, check out the pics. They're actually quite lovely. Ms. Doll is very talented.

Cheers,
Mr.B



(this photo is reprinted without Ms. Doll's permission. But I've posted it with the intent to give samples of her fine work. If she somehow stumbles across this and wants the pic removed, I will happily do so. I don't want to infringe upon her fine work. Ms. Doll, simply post a comment here and I'll take care of it.)

The Alligator King.

If you've got 1:56 and would like to learn how to count up to 7, you should probably watch this video clip.



(Yeah, I know. I had a hardcore Sesame Street flashback, watching that, too.)

Cheers,
Mr.B

Re-Connected.

Look who has Internet access at home now!

BOOM!

This guy!



How cool is that?

This Sunday past, I finally figured out how to make my computer connect with the internet AND hooked up the router that my good friend, Ian, gave me. So, I can sit here in my tiny office and work (or play video games or burn CDs or surf the web or check email or write the next great American novel) and in his room, Joe can do the same, without having to loan me his computer anymore. I'm sure that he's happy about that, too. I've been mooching off of him for a while now.

Additionally, all the hardware for the modem and the router are all discretely tucked underneath a small end table, which gets rid of unsightly cables. I like that. Our little apartment continues improving.

Right here, right now, as I write this, I am listening to Seu Jorge's excellent CD while I work out this post. My office chair is comfy and supports my back. The screen is close by and very visible. The dog is curled up at my feet, waiting patiently to be taken out to the backyard. I anticipate that I'll spend many happy hours in this tiny office.

If you're one of the good folks whose emails are not getting timely responses, expect a nice change to that, starting today.

I am reconnected. It only took 6 months.

Cheers,
Mr.B



PS. I expect to have my COH account reactivated by Wednesday. I should be flying around, dispensing justice, by the weekend.

PSS. I need to clean this keyboard, stat. 6 months of sitting, accumulates a lot of dust.

Leaving On A Jet Plane.

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go
I'm standin' here outside your door
I hate to wake you up to say goodbye

But the dawn is breakin', it's early morn
The taxi's waitin', he's blowin' his horn
Already I'm so lonesome I could die

So kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you'll wait for me
Hold me like you'll never let me go

'Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane
I don't know when I'll be back again
Oh, babe, I hate to go

Today, at 5:30pm, I fly back to my homestate of Kentucky for a 2 day visit. My mom and stepdad are picking me up at the airport and we're getting a late dinner together. Probably at the Australian Steakhouse near where they live. What can I say? They like Australian food.

Tomorrow, I get a haircut at a nearby barber shop. After that, I shop in my favorite comic book/ Used DVD shop (KY prices on Used DVDs are always $2 cheaper, at least. And artsy fartsy movies that I like are always de-valued. Their loss, my gain.) After that, I shop for new pants for the Saturday Stinger Halloween Show. (Must remember to buy red fabric for the show and plastic weapons, too.) Lunch is with the grandparents. My mom is taking a half day off of work on Friday, to visit with me and to take Christmas Card pictures of my cousins new baby. I am also seeing my cousins house for the first time. She's so excited about that, that she's already emailed me to make sure that's happening. She's a good kid.

Friday evening, I'm seeing my first Cirque Du Soleil show, ever. In Louisville, Kentucky. Because that city is renowned for its presence in the global arts scene. (I kid. I kid.) I am, of course, excited to get to see the show. I'm a big fan of their work. They're both breathtaking in their staging, amazing in their acrobatic talent and charming in their presentation. I can't wait to see what they do.

As a side bonus, my "date" for the evening is my best friend, Corey's wife, Carrie. They both moved back to KY, recently and I don't get to see or hear from them, very much. So, spending an evening with her is a treat. Additionally, Carrie is a very talented artist. She paints, sews, sculpts and works in other mediums. She'll really appreciate the aesthetics of what Cirque does. It pleases me to be able to invite her to go with me.

Saturday, I spend with my dad and stepmom. If my step-sister isn't pitching one of her infamous tizzy fits, I might get to see her sons. My step-nephews. I love those boys like a distant parent. I look forward to wrassling them to the ground and having pillows thrown at me.

Saturday, at 5pm, I fly back to Chicago.

On the same night, I have a HUGE Halloween show and the Belmont Burlesque Halloween show, part deux at midnight that night. After that, I plan to drink myself silly and pass out at home.

Sunday, is a day for rest. And for rehearsal. And for seeing the closing night of LEAP.

A very busy weekend.

That's the itinerary.
Here's the greater emotional significance of all of this.

Going home for a visit, always tears me up inside, a little bit. I am usually so happy, living in Chicago. I feel a visceral thrill when I see the city pop up again outside the plane's window. I love this city. It makes me a little sad to leave it, and nearly everyone that I know, behind.

It also hurts to see my Kentucky-bound family members sometimes. They love me very, very much. And this love is expressed by tentative, jokey requests that I might move back home soon. My mom has actually pointed out pretty, funny, smart AVAILABLE Kentucky Girls to me. Her hope is that I'll meet one and fall in love and come back home. It actually hurts me inside, just a little bit, to apologetically, jokingly refuse their requests. There is an unspoken sentiment that "Kentucky is just not good enough for me. I choose to live elsewhere." Which begs the unspoken response, "What's wrong with your family, that you won't arrange your life to live near or with them?" Another unspoken question is "We've all chosen to settle here and you hate it so much. What does that say about us?"

My problem is actually with Kentucky, as a whole.
The barely contained racism and sexism that bubbles up all too frequently.
The deeply ingrained homophobia.
The political ignorance that sends a poorer state to vote red, EVERY TIME, regardless of the candidate or the consequences.
The pride that this ignorance fuels.
The disinterest in art or culture or the rest of the world. The lack of participation in the rest of the country's affairs.

It's like someone, somewhere, once pblicly ridiculed the whole state and everyone in it just "gave up" and stubbornly refuses to modernize their attitudes or the aesthetic of their cities. The whole state just "gave up" and "dropped out". There are very few Intellectual or Philosophical Giants being raised in Kentucky.

And I hate the whole state for that. For embracing it's ugly ignorance and making it a point of pride. For settling for what's available now, instead of striving for what was great THEN or what could be great about TOMORROW. I can't forgive the entire state for it's concerted collective backslide.

And I'm also a little ashamed that for a long time, I never knew better. Or expected more that what I was given or shown. Getting out of the state into a larger city has really shaken off the naivete that such a sheltered existence breeds.

So, the thought of living in KY smacks of failure to me. A place to retreat to if things go bad here. It's not a place where I ever want to live. Even a visit for more than 4 days, makes me want to start shaking people and demanding that they look around more critically. How sad, then, that this tiny group of people that I actually love very, very much, are located precisely there.

I never miss Kentucky.
But I miss my family, quite often.

So, it is with a heavy heart that I return to my homestate, today. And live there for the next two days. I get less than 24 hours with each parent. Which is a little sad, too. What kind of son am I for living away from home for the last 12 years? (How did it become such a long period of time?) As much as they gave me, when I was growing up, it seems that I should give them more than I do. This is also something that we don't discuss.

Ah well. As focused as I am on the more morose aspects of the trip, there are definitely some things to look forward to. I miss my mom and dad. I miss my grandparents. I want to see my cousins new house and new baby. I want to wrestle my step-nephews. I will enjoy each of these activities with a light heart. Uninhibited by my distaste for my native state.

So kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you'll wait for me
Hold me like you'll never let me go

'Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane
I don't know when I'll be back again
Oh, babe, I hate to go

Flying the friendly skies,
Mr.B



PS. My good friend, Bran, has written a very nice post in her blog that nicely rebuttals my view of the Bluegrass State. You can read it here. ((Linked with the author's permission.)

A Life of Adventure...

Here's a conversation that I had last night...

Me: "What're you two doing tonight?"

Her: "Me and my roommate are going to stay home and watch Nip/tuck and hang out. What are you doing?"

Me: "Oh, I'm playing D & D with the boys."

...

Her: "Really?"

Me: "Yes, really."

Her" "So, are you like a wizard or something?"

Me: "Um, no. I'm more of a fighter. A sword and shield guy. I do very little magic, actually."

Her: "So, what are you guys doing now?"

Me: "Right now, we're having a small disagreement. The boys want to go into Undermountain and kill everything that we find, looting bodies and whatnot. I don't want to do it, though. I want to get down to the business of living well. Maybe open an inn or something. I just don't see the point in going down there."

Her: "Oh baby. You're a fighter. Get out there and do some fighting. You should go and have fun and fight and stuff."

Me: "You think?"

Her: "Yes, I do."

Me: (sigh) "Okaaaaaaaaay. I'll go. But I'm taking you with me."

Her: "That's very sweet."

Me: "While I'm out there on the battlefield, I'll be thinking about you and I'll fight hard to get back home to you."

Her: "Aww."

Me: "My Lady, I will carry thou in my heart. It shall comfort me when all around me is but death and agony!"

From the Other Room: "Hey, Get In Here! These ORCS aren't going to kill themselves, you know!"

Me: "Shoot. I gotta go. I'll text you later."

Her: "Sure, go. Have fun. And baby?"

Me: "Yeah?"

Her: "You're a nerd."

She giggled. I blushed. We hung up and I went and killed orcs with my friends.

Cheers,
Mr.B

www.ChicagoBloggers.com

Hey, here's a little bit of good news.

I just got an email yesterday from ChicagoBloggers.com and they're adding my blog to their website. You can see my recently added blog, in their listing, here. As a Recently Added blog to their site, I think that my blog will be featured on their homepage, eventually. Which will only serve to draw a little more attention here.

ChicagoBloggers is a really wonderful, surprisingly simple website that links its viewers to a host of Chicago area blogs. They model their website by the CTA map. So, you can view the blogs that are written by people in your area. (Or if you're feeling adventurous, wander around to other el stops and see what people are writing there.) For people who know the city layout, it's a fun way to navigate the landscape of the Chicago Blogosphere.

Several of the blogs that I check daily (Arnie Niekamp's wonderful, "A Year In Pictures of Working", Don Hall's inciteful "An Angry White Guy In Chicago" and Madge Hixx's thoughtful "Chicago Stories" ) are all listed on Chicago Bloggers.com. So, I feel like this is a nice, little step closer to providing the quality blog entries that those good folks regularly put out. (If you haven't already, I encourage you to explore any or all of those, right now. Don't worry, you can always come back to me, later. They're also linked in my sidebar, on the right.)

I guess this means that I can expect a slow trickle of increased visits here by readers from that website. Total strangers that will peek in, read whatever's floating around and then perhaps become steady visitors and eventually friends in real life.

I like that idea. Getting to know someone through their writing and then meeting them, in person. You walk into the meeting with so much appreciation for who they are and how they express themselves. A foundation of appreciation is already laid. How can things go awry from there?

(As a side note: I first met the girl that I mentioned below by reading her blog. Before I ever stood in a room with her, I knew so much about her. I was already a fan, before she ever said a word. Fortunately for me, she's equally attractive in real life, as she is, in print.)

Well, welcome to my blog, New Visitors from Chicago Blogger.com! You're definitely welcomed here. I appreciate everyone, from the silent lurkers to the pro-active commentators. And if you post something in my comments, I'll try to respond to it, as soon as I can. (Assuming a responses is needed or requested.) I look forward to exploring our future dialogue together.

Cheers,
Mr.B

PS: A Very Special Thanks to Madge Hixx who introduced me to the site, late one night, many months ago, at the Town Hall Pub. You were right, it IS a well designed site and a handy resource to have around.

A Recent Change...

Dear Friends,

I've met someone.

Or rather, Someone that I've known for a long, long, long time has finally began to look at me in a different way. The way that I've been looking at her. And we've begun the pleasant, slow process of spending our free time with each other.

But this is what I think she looks like.

And this is also how she makes me feel.



We talk. We joke. We kiss.

She puts her face in the crook of my elbow and blows big, fat raspberries and then giggles and that makes me giggle. This happens time and time again and it never get old.

She walks up to me because she's cold and tucks her arms in and puts her head on my shoulder and I wrap my arms around her and share my warmth. We are as close as two people can get.

She swirls the ice in her nearly-empty gin and tonic and looks over at me, seductively, and she suggests that a cab is in order. Soon. And that's enough to get me calling for the check and scrambling into my coat.

She's pretty wonderful.
And very, very strong.
You'd be surprised.
I was.

Claimed (in a manner),
Mr.B

Fez'd!

Cleaning out an old file here on my computer, I stumbled onto this picture, which my friend Rene took, last fall. We were killing some time, shopping inside Hollywood Mirror.

I was trying on a fez.
I didn't buy the fez.
But I DID look damned good in it.



Also, I've added a second Flickr badge, at the bottom of my sidebar, over on the left.

Note: I took all of the pictures of me out of the top Flickr badge, so that I could have more room for people (and things) that I wanted to put in there. If someone is inclined to see pictures of me, they have their own Flickr badge to do so with. (Also, I've had the chance to wear some wonderful costumes in my 15 or so years in theater. I thought I might include some of them, in the new photo badge.)

Of course, if you see yourself in either flickr badge and wish to be removed, send me an email and I'll happily pull the offending pic.

Cheers,
Mr.B

ROBOT MUNCHKINS!!!

According to the guy who posted this, he was working at MGM Studios in Florida, when he took the raw footage from this. He selected an audio track for it, edited it together and Presto Changeo! We get this fun, little video.

Be forewarned: This video DOES feature audio-animatronic munchkins, which is a little bit creepy!




Cheers,
Mr,B

PS. Want to go through the entire Great Movie Ride at MGM Studios without travelling to Florida? Here ya go! (It's long, though!)

News Flash: Gypsies protest Borat Movie!

Please note that I am altering NOT A SINGLE WORD of this news article. The brilliant punchline at the end, came directly from the actual article.

Enjoy,
Mr.B

German Gypsies in Legal Bid Against 'Borat'
Reuters
BERLIN (Oct. 17) - A German group representing Roma interests said on Tuesday it had filed a suit to try to stop British comedian Sacha Baron Cohen showing his latest film in Germany.

"We are accusing him of defamation and inciting violence against Sinti and Roma (gypsies)," Marko Knudsen, head of the European Center of Antiziganism Research, told Reuters. Antiziganism refers to hostility to gypsies.

The group said it had filed a complaint to prosecutors over the film, "Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan," saying it treated violence and discrimination against Roma peoples as acceptable behavior.

State prosecutors in Hamburg will investigate the allegations before deciding whether to take action.

In the satirical film, which is due to open in Germany on November 2, Cohen, creator of the comic character Ali G, plays Borat Sagdiyev, a fictional Kazakh television journalist who travels to the United States to report back on the American way of life.

The film's comic barbs also target gypsies, Jews, women and many other groups.

The complaint adds to a series of protests against Cohen's creation, whose views are not only racist and anti-Semitic but also misogynist and homophobic.

Some of the most prominent criticism has come from Kazakhstan, Borat's central Asian homeland.

Knudsen's group has asked for an injunction to stop the film from being shown in Germany. "We called the distributors, but they laughed at us," he said.

I should also mention that the President of Kazakhstan vehemently hates this movie for the way that it portrays his country. To combat the negative public image that this film will give his country, he has funded an independant film, "Nomad", which is being billed as the "Kazakhstani Braveheart".
Also, during a recent visit to the US, he requested a meeting with President George Bush to discuss this movie and it's effect on his country's morale and economic standing. Unfortunately for all involved, Sacha Baron Cohen, the actor who plays Borat, is British. Which gives American President George Bush, very little influence over him.

This is the film that the Kazakhstani government and an assorted rabble of angry, organized gypsies don't want you to see.

How can you NOT go see this movie?

Cheers,
Mr.B

Your Borat Primer.

In discussion with a few friends over the weekend, I found out that some folks don't know who Borat is or what he's all about. So, I thought I would throw this little primer post together, to highlight his career.

First up, here's an article from AOLNews today, which mentions Borat's upcoming movie and gives you a taste of how Borat behaves in public.

'Borat' Star Honored in Germany
By Scott Roxborough
Reuters

COLOGNE, Germany (Oct. 17) - He might be persona non grata in Kazakhstan, but Borat -- the crazed Central Asian TV reporter created by British comic Sacha Baron Cohen -- is a hero to the German comedy scene.

Baron Cohen, in his Borat guise, won the best international comedian prize at the sixth annual German Comedy Awards on Friday in Cologne.

"Good evening gentlemen and prostitutes," Baron Cohen said to the crowd. "I love Germany. I love sex."

With his misogynistic and racist comments, Borat has been a source of controversy -- both in Kazakhstan and in the U.S.

"Most German comedy is fairly tame in comparison, and there was some worry that people would be offended," said Holger Hoffmann, executive producer of the awards show. "But we held out. For German comedians, Borat is a revelation. It actually transcends comedy to become social and political commentary."

Baron Cohen, whose theatrical feature "Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan" opens in Germany Nov. 2, certainly didn't clean up his act for the awards ceremony.

"I will put this prize next to the only other one I won," Baron Cohen said. "From Central Asian Olympic Committee. For hitting gypsy with rock at 50 meters."

Here's a pic of Borat, premiering his movie at Cannes, this past spring. Borat has some pretty big balls to be wearing that swimsuit out in public. Look, you can practically see them!



Here's the teaser trailer for the movie!


And here's the full trailer for the movie!


Here's IMDB's summary of the plot of his movie...

Kazakhstani TV personality Borat is dispatched to the United States to report on the "greatest country in the world." With a documentary crew in tow, Borat becomes more interested in locating and marrying Pamela Anderson than on his assignment.

It's important to note that MOST of the people in this movie didn't know that Cohen was playing a character. In most cases, anyone appearing in the movie signed a waiver that was pretty loose in it's language and then were thrown in, head first with Borat and his camera crew. Hilarity ensued from there. So, the discomfort that people seem to feel during the movie is genuine discomfort.

And this has been the schtick that Borat has been rocking for some time now, on the Ali G show. (Cohen also plays Ali G and a gay german decorator, Bruno, on his show.)

Here's a little sample of some of his previous "Interview segments" as Borat.

Borat explores Dating in America!


Borat visits the Southern US.


Borat Explores the U.K. (24 min.)


Borat gets a US Country Western Bar to sing "Throw the Jew Down the Well" with him.


Borat kills me.
I love the whole "people being tricked by this character" aspect of the show. The recreation historian in the Southern clip is a prime example of someone losing their mind in frustration when they run up against Borat.

For me, the humor is never "Jeez, isn't this foreigner a dummy about American customs!" It's always, "How long is Cohen going to get away with this behavior before the victim figures out what's going on and loses their shit?!?" For me, the joke only works because I am in on it. And I am aware that Cohen doesn't actually talk or act like this. If this was real, it wouldn't be funny. Just clumsy and awkward.

Yes, Borat, the character is anti-Semitic. That doesn't bother me in the slightest. Mainly because I know that Cohen is, himself, Jewish. And the reason why he chose to make Borat anti-semidic is clearly evident in the singing of "Throw The Jew Down The Well". To expose the careless racism of others.

Anyways, the movie opens on November 3rd, in most markets. If you get a chance, do no more research than this and go check it out. I think you'll be glad you did!

Cheers,
Mr.B

"Human Sacrifices! Dogs and Cats! Living together! MASS HYSTERIA!".

Cheers,
Mr.B

PS. The title of this post comes to us, via the esteemed parapsychologist, Dr. Peter Venkman.

A Dream of Waking.

Today was one of those strange days that began with me waking up just long enough to hit snooze nearly two dozen times. Between the multiple alarms going off, I fell back to sleep enough to begin dreaming that I actually had woken up and begun the day.

I dreamt that I'd taken a shower, brushed my teeth, trimmed my beard, dressed, took the dog out back, selected a coat and was on my way out the door and off to work, when I woke up and realized that I was still in bed.

That's such a disheartening feeling. I thought, "Goddammit, I have to do all of that crap AGAIN! I just DID all of that crap! I don't want to do it again!" And so the second shower, beard trimming, teeth brushing and dog walking were all done under some sort of petty protest, that an outside observer would have a hard time rationalizing.

Apparently, I need some more sleep these days. Staying up until midnight isn't going to cut it anymore.

In unrelated news, I officially got served notice this morning by my underwear drawer that it's time to do laundry again. That's right. I ran out of boxer shorts and am forced to wear tighty whities. Which means that a whole day of socially embarrassing ball-shifting-around is ahead of me.

Don't ask me to take off my pants in front of you, right now. Because I won't.

I feel like I look like this.



So, I'm not feeling my sexiest self, today.

Also, it is snowing.
In October.
I don't know who's brilliant idea THAT was, but they deserve a full-on roundhouse kick to the face.

Cheers,
Mr.B

"If it rains..."

God, I was so nervous.

I liked this girl, so, so much.

I'd just driven four and a half hours to be with her.
On her campus, she showed me her costume shop and introduced me to people that I would never see again. She drove us to the grocery store to pick up dinner supplies. Which was fine with me. It gave me time to look at her, while she drove, doing my best to record the moment in my memory, forever. She kept offering me things, "Would you like this for dinner?" or "What would you like to drink?" and I was absolutely useless to her. I was trying not to blurt out "I LIKE YOU" over and over again at everything she said.

I followed her back to her house. It was summer and the weather was warm. I had the windows rolled down and the sunroof open. We drove through a light sprinkle of rain, but not hard enough to make me seal the car back up. I listened to the CD I burned for her, with every romantic song I really liked. I remember the white flashes of moths fluttering in front of my car's headlights as "Dancing in the Moonlight" played over my stereo. I let my arm hang out the open window of my car, sailing the flat palm of my hand on the summer breeze. I remember the gentle sway of the curvy road that lead to her house.

We didn't talk much.
But we smiled often.

She finished preparing dinner and I sipped wine and made small talk. Conversation being my contribution to this meal.

We carried our dinner plates out to her deck and had dinner out in the nighttime. She had candles and citronella wicks burning, 8 to 10 feet away from us. And while I could see the bugs attacking them, they avoided us entirely. She was a very smart girl.

I was so nervous that I barely ate, nibbling on the Fettucini, and making funny, small comments. She would smile at me, as if to say, "I can't believe you just said that!" A very charming smile.

I helped her clear the dinner plates and refilled our wine glasses. In her small kitchen, we orbited around each other. Flirting with distance and closeness. Arms brushed arms. Backs passed fronts. Her hair casually brushed past my face.

She grabbed a blanket from the other room and took my hand and lead me out into the backyard. As I was whisked away, I grabbed the wine bottle and our glasses. She looked back at me and smiled, as she lead me away and out into the field behind her house.

A great big, open Kentucky field. Distant houses were tucked just inside the treelines. A few windows glowed with the life within them. Otherwise, no sign of another living human being. A few fireflies made their tentative explorations of the field, flashing brightly to attract unknown mates.

We stretched out on the blanket, the wine between us. We looked out at the field and up at the sky. Overhead, the grey clouds made a solemn march across the sky. Great waves of fat rain clouds rolled over head. They literally looked like waves to me.

She looked at me and smiled that killer smile at me again. I can't remember what I did or said. I hope it was something charming. I wanted to be able to see that smile every day for the rest of my adult life.

I knew that I probably should kiss her. Right then and there. If I kissed her, then we could spend the rest of the weekend kissing each other. Rolling and tumbling in bed and on the floor, across her clean, white sheets. What a wonderful way to spend the rest of the weekend. If I didn't kiss her, would I regret it the whole car ride home?

But I didn't know how she felt. In hindsight, every indication was there. This was a girl, ready for a good kissing. But at the time, I was riddled with doubt and I didn't want to be an ungrateful guest. Can you imagine anything more awkward than spending a weekend with someone who clearly liked you more than you liked them?

So, I gave up my control over the situation and said to myself, "If it rains on us, as it might do at any second, I will kiss this girl." I couldn't think of anything more random than the rain. So, I let the rain decide what was going to happen between us.

And by sheer stupid bad luck, the clouds blew over and left completely.

As if they KNEW that I was counting on them and split, just to spite me.

I lay there, cursing the now open sky and the fields of bright, steady stars. As lovely as they were, they meant that I wasn't going to get to be with this girl.

"Fuck it" I said and I kissed her, anyways. And she kissed me back. And I tell you, it was as grand as I'd hoped it was going to be. She wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me close and I stayed there for some time. We didn't explore anything else. We just kissed each other with everything that we had. It was wonderful.

Later, the bugs attacked us and we fled into the house and we kissed in the kitchen and then in her room, where I later fell asleep next to her. Before we drifted off, she put in the CD of romantic music that I made her and we kissed through that, too. It was quite possibly the Holy Grail of MakeOut CDs. Never to be repeated again, I'm afraid.

Exhausted from the youthful charging of our batteries and hormones, we laid there and talked before we fell asleep. She had her arms around me and her head on my chest. I slowly stroked her hair and lived as hard as I possibly could, willing the moment to go on indefinitely.

"You know," I said, "I almost didn't kiss you out there."

"I'm glad you did," she said.

"I was nervous. I really like you. I didn't want to screw this up," I said, "I threw it up to some higher power and decided that if it rained, I would kiss you."

"But it didn't rain," she said. She leaned up to look me in the face in the dim, blue light of her bedroom.

"I know. I cheated."

And she laughed at that. So did I.

The next morning, she woke me up by kissing me softly on the lips. Her bare chest pressed against mine. I gently pulled her to me and we softly kissed each other. Exploring how delicate we could be with each other.

"That was very nice. A good way to begin the day." I said.

"Well, I woke up and it was lightly raining outside, so I figured that meant that I probably should kiss you. So, I did." Her eyes were smart and playful. Her hair stood charmingly askew on her head. I smiled up at her and ran my fingers through her hair.

"Are you going to do that every time it rains?" I asked.

"I think I might." and she skipped out of the bedroom to brush her teeth and make breakfast for us.

That was in the summer of 2002. My 3 day weekend with her.

I think about this girl whenever it rains.
I think to myself that the coming rain is a sure sign that I should go find this girl and kiss her.
I wonder if she thinks of the same thing when she finds herself out in the rain? That somewhere out there is a man that she's supposed to be kissing, every time it rains.
As if the decision isn't up to us. As if there is a higher power pushing us towards each other, confirming the gentle rightness of our being together.

I wonder...

Change The World.

I check PostSecret every Monday morning.

If you don't, then you should too. There are some fascinating things there.

New postcards are posted on Sunday evenings. Last weeks postcards go away and the new ones appear. Some of them are archived in the books, but generally speaking, they are ethereal, temporary.

For the most part, there is some heavy stuff there. Anonymous people tear the most painful parts of themselves out of their souls, plaster them on a postcard with some artful design and ship them off to be posted on the website. They are secrets of pain and shame and humiliation. Abortion. Rape. Alcohlism. Suicide. Abuse. These are the things that people usually send to PostSecret. The secrets that they don't want to or can't bear to keep to themselves anymore.

Sometimes, however, they send something of hope and optimism.

This one appeared there this morning.



I like this postcard.
It really speaks to me.
It's strange, but, I've been so hungry for something hopeful and brace that this postcard deeply touches me, instantly.

More than the quixotic goal that the author has written across the very clouds in the sky, I am touched by the almost quiet, distant rumblings of optimism that is contained in the phrase "...I think I can...". Notice how florid, large, grand and colorful the intentions of the postcard. Changing the world, after all is a big job. It takes big words to express it.

But the self confidence to actually make that happen?
Well, that's a more private matter and is considerably less bombastic.
And it appears to be off in the distance, heading towards us, the viewers. As if to say that the self-confidence to "change the world" will come eventually. The plan is here and ready and larger than life. But the will to do it, is yet, on it's way.

This postcards speaks to me about a grand goal that the author has for themselves, which we can also share, but also speaks of the humility that we all must feel, to put such a plan in action.

It's good to start a Monday up with a feeling of possibility. I don't feel that nearly enough.

Cheers,
Mr.B

PS. Secretly, I want to change the world, too. Or if not the world, then just my country. Which appears to be broken to me. And in need of a good fixing.

The Distance Between Us...

Hi there.

It's been a while, hasn't it?

We've had some fun times, you and I, haven't we? This merry tete a tete that we're engaged in.

I post something amusing or charming or poignant (or struggling to be poignant) and you read it and we are communicating. Sometimes you post comments. Sometimes you share them when you meet in real life. It is a good deal.

But things have changed recently, haven't they?

You can palpably sense the change, can't you?

Something's different.

I am away.

An absent landlord.

A silenced voice.

Or at least, a diminished voice.

Days are passing between posts. And the charm of your finding something newly posted midday has gone away entirely.

Here's the thing.

My casual internet usage at work has ended.

My internet use is now being monitored by some unknown tech nerd up in Toronto. The log where I go and how long I'm there and what pages I click on. If I look up "boobies" on the wikipedia, they know. If I visit the Bee Board (which you can locate, using the link to the left, in my sidebar), they know.

And if I come to my blog and spend time here, hammering out an entry, they know.

Sooooooooooooooooooooooo... Things have changed.
Or are changing.

Two days ago, I purchased a new power supply for my home PC. (you know the nice Hewlett Packard paperweight that I've enjoyed since June. It's now October.) I should have it by this weekend or early next week.

Once I get it installed, I can get back to the internet things that I loved. Researching new music that I discover, looking at nude pictures of celebrities that I find attractive, reading gossip about new movies, answering email and blogging.

Blog entries will have to now be prepped and dropped during the night. (It's almost 2am, as I type this, on a random Thursday night.) So, you'll find something charming or poignant waiting for you, when you come to work. And responses to your comments will have to come, the next day.

Sorry for the delay and for the distance between us. Believe me, if I could change it, I would. Be patient with me. And please know that I appreciate the time that you come here. I'll get this all under control and we will continue our shared journey forward, reunited.

Cheers,
Mr.B

A Wolf At The Door.

(Shh, I'm sneaking over here during the work day to record this. Don't tell anybody!)

Read this poem.

I've included some notes on it afterwards. For now, just read this. Take your time with it. Examine the words, the patterns, the tightly contained packets of imagery that this author has composed for you here.

Enough talking from me. Read this...

A Wolf At The Door.

Drag him out your window
Dragging out your dead
Singing I miss you
Snakes and ladders
Flip the lid
Out pops the cracker

Smacks you in the head
Knifes you in the neck
Kicks you in the teeth
Steel toe caps
Takes all your credit cards

Get up get the gunge
Get the eggs
Get the flan in the face
The flan in the face
The flan in the face

Dance you fucker
Dance you fucker

Don't you dare
Don't you dare
Don't you flan in the face

Take it with the love is given
Take it with a pinch of salt
Take it to the taxman

Let me back
Let me back
I promise to be good
Don't look in the mirror
At the face you don't recognize
Help me call the doctor

Put me inside
Put me inside
Put me inside
Put me inside
Put me inside

I keep the wolf from the door
But he calls me up
Calls me on the phone
Tells me all the ways that he's gonna mess me up
Steal all my children
If I don't pay the ransom
But I'll never see him again
If I squeal to the cops

No no no no no no no

Walking like giant cranes, ah
With my x ray eyes, I strip you naked
In a tight little world and why are you on the list?

Stepford wives, Who are we to complain?

Investments and dealers
Investments and dealers
Cold wives and mistresses
Cold wives and sunday papers.
City boys in first class
Don't know we're born little

Someone else is gonna come and clean it up
Born and raised for the job
Someone else always does always pick it up

Get over
Get up
Get over
Turn the tape off.

I keep the wolf from the door
But he calls me up
Calls me on the phone
Tells me all the ways that he's gonna mess me up
Steal all my children
If I don't pay the ransom
But I'll never see him again
If I squeal to the cops
So I'm just gonna'

Okay, so confession time. That's not a poem. It's lyrics of a song. Specifically, it's "A Wolf At The Door" by Radiohead, from their album, Hail to the Thief. If you've heard the song, it's rambling and creepy and a little disturbing. The lyrics are rushed through as if someone (or something) is chasing the character singing the song. Which is apropo, since the subject matters is one of Implied Menace and Impending Doom.

I like this song.
And not just for the melody. Which is also creepy and rambling.
I like it for the words.
Which I've always thought were pretty powerful. "Dance you fucker! Dance you fucker!" is said in a way that clearly communicates the speakers lazy, unspoken cruelty. You better start dancin' or something REALLY bad is going to happen to you.

Today, when it was on my internet radio, I stopped to look up the lyrics and I was impressed by how much they looked like a poem. The images that it conjures forward are pretty stark, pretty clear. In short, it's a well written song.

Which I thought I would share with you.

And now I have.

Cheers,
Mr.B



PS. If you're inclined to hear the song and see a really wonderful, creepy, cartoon video that really compliments the song, then you should watch this...